Intangible
by moostronaut
Summary: If Cas fell from Grace and became human, the Winchesters would feel as though they would owe him at least this much. Think of it as a thank you. *Based on a drawing I've posted on my tumblr .


"Cas?" Dean called, his voice a light but firm query falling on deaf ears. The angel, or rather not, whom he was addressing still lay unconscious on the third motel bed in their room. Dean sighed. "Cas," he tried again, betraying his annoyance, "there's no way in hell you're really that tired, not even _I_ can sleep this long."

He resigned to tossing his discarded bundle of flannel shirt at Cas' head when said head did not respond. Cas still didn't stir. He just continued to lie there, only now with Dean's flannel covering his head. In any other situation Dean would have found the sight extremely amusing, if not for the fact that he'd spent the better part of the early morning preparing a speech for what his friend had apparently decided not to attend. It may just be early but Dean couldn't help the thought that he, at least to him, seemed to be much better company than Freddie Krueger in Happy Angel Dreamland or whatever it is that Cas dreams about, if he dreams at all. And before he could let that train of thought leave the station, he gave an indignant grunt and finally hauls himself up and over to the side of Cas' bed.

Where the hell is Sam. _He should be here by now._

In reality he'd only left twenty minutes prior, but that didn't stop Dean from still thinking he should be here, because if anybody could wake up a half-dead ex-angel who's never slept a day in his ethereal feathery-ass ancient life and has expressly chosen today of all days to do so, then his massive moose of a brother is the man for the job.

"_Cas_," Dean didn't give him any time to respond if he'd actually been relatively awake enough to do so, because without preamble he ripped the covers off Cas' utterly comatose body and when that had no effect, leaned over and shouted his friend's name in his ear.

He felt like he was fourteen and trying to wake up a ten-year-old Sammy, but at the moment he really couldn't give a rat's ass.

To Dean's delight, if one could call it that, Cas sprung awake in a twisted mess of blankets and confusion and stunned doe-eyes. Dean put on his best smirk and walked back to sit on the edge of his own bed.

"What? Wh—Dean," he started, rubbing his eyes, "What is it?"

There was a click and the motel door swung open, Sam sweeping in and balancing three cups of coffee and very much not pie, dammit.

"I think you've had enough beauty rest, Aurora," Dean teased, ignoring Sam's entrance, lack of pie, and the bitch-face he gave him at his Disney reference. Instead he chose to focus on the comical bed-head that Cas currently wore, and the fact that they still had a plan and groggy, half-asleep Cas be damned, they were going through with it. "So, Sam and I were thinking," he paused to make sure Cas was listening. He was, to the best of his ability, listening intently through his state of half-consciousness, bless his newly-acquired soul. Cas' blue eyes were not diminished in their brightness by his lack of a Grace, and for some reason Dean's words died on his tongue at the sight. He let out a deflated breath. "You know what, just get dressed," to which Cas tilted his head. "and hurry up," he added.

And he stood to see Sam's confused face and he smirked and he shrugged half-heartedly and he did his Dean-thing, sauntering out the door to the Impala where their stuff sat and where they were _going_ to be sitting in no more than five minutes.

Only it ended up being more like ten minutes since Cas took his sweet time getting dressed, as some form of silent revenge at Dean's obnoxious method of impersonating an alarm clock and Dean honestly saw that one coming, though he vowed to quit leaving Cas alone with Sam because he was starting to become a bad influence.

But they finally piled into the Impala, Dean in the driver's and Sam taking shotgun, Cas sitting in the center of the backseat in jeans and a borrowed Led Zeppelin t-shirt and a grey jacket.

Twenty minutes into the car ride and Dean was not amused.

"Dean."

"Cas, I'm not telling you where we're going so you can stop asking."

"_Dean_."

"_What, Cas_."

"Both of you stop before I physically take control of the Impala."

Sam's interruption silenced them both long enough for Dean to drive into the lot of their destination. Thankfully Cas chose to wear a confused expression rather than saying Dean's name again, because so help him God he would've lost it right there.

Dean twisted around in his seat to face Cas, pulling a folded sheet of paper out from his pocket. Cas eyed the sign above the building they sat in front of before taking the sheet handed to him, facing hidden smiles from both of the Winchesters and not really knowing what to expect.

But unfolded, the sheet had a design. A beautiful design in black ink that showed the protection sigil, the tattoo both of the Winchesters wore over their hearts, and from it sprouted wings. They looked just like his, the wings he'd lost, the wings that they would only see during a flash of lightning or after the death of an angel; in fear or in faith. These would take up the whole of his back, the pentagram between his shoulders and the flames around them morphing into big, black wings that would fold down until the tips of the black, ink feathers would touch just above his pant line. Cas could only stare.

"It's a tattoo."

Dean smiled something between a smirk and a genuine smile, snatching the paper from Cas' hand and, turning around, stepped out of the Impala, Sam following suit. Cas followed shortly after.

"This way, these wings will be permanent." And it went unsaid that the protection sigil in the center, the pentagram, would protect him; protect him in his new and very human, very mortal body. The wings were Sam's idea, but the sigil—that was Dean's. These wings would never leave him, even in death, they would be intangible and they'd always be there to remind Cas of his strength and his resilience and also of his mistakes, so that he would know to not repeat them. They'd be a testament to all that he'd sacrificed, but also of what he'd gained. And the sigil was there to keep him safe, but also it was there to remind Cas that he was family, tried and true. But Dean would never say it aloud. It didn't need to be said, because Cas already knew.


End file.
